


The Scents of Leather, Parchment, and Time

by Alexandrite811



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, Not Suitable/Safe For Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 14:44:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16996959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexandrite811/pseuds/Alexandrite811
Summary: "He’s not quite sure how he got to this point. Oh, he knows the physical motions that led from point A to point B, but the trigger that started the madness could have been one of a hundred unconscious motions or gestures. "





	The Scents of Leather, Parchment, and Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thecaptainhedgehog (lyzeebyrd)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyzeebyrd/gifts).



> The summary really describes how this piece came into being. It's not only my first time writing Ori/Dwalin, but also the first time I've every written a full-on, NSFW fanfiction. I usually stick to teasing glimpses and innuendo, but... for some reason, this just started and I couldn't stop it. I really do hope that you enjoy it and that you overlook any errors of character that might happen. For all that the characters struggled to let me write them, it was really a lot of fun in the end! ^_^ Happy Hobbit Holidays!

There is a dull throb of pain in his knees. He can sense it along with the seeping cold and the hard feel of the stone floor beneath him.

They don’t bother with rugs and tapestries this far back in the library. Only a few determined souls ever find their way back to the collection rooms for research purposes. Only _one_ dedicated individual has actually set to themselves to the organization and preservation of such obscure tomes.

“Ori.”

There’s a wealth of admiration in that one forced word, hiding beneath the rough desperation of his naturally gruff tones.

His hands, more used to the heft of a hammer or the swing of an axe, are fumbling now. The fingers fighting clasps and laces, tugging and pulling and trying not to snap them in his haste.

He’s not quite sure how he got to this point. Oh, he knows the physical motions that led from point A to point B, but the trigger that started the madness could have been one of a hundred unconscious motions or gestures. It could have been the shy flash of a smile, the way he nipped his lower lips in thought, or the wonderful flush of skin when he was speaking about something for which he had a passion.

Whatever the turning point had been, it had at least started the same as any other afternoon.

Dwalin had taken to joining Ori in the library after his duties were concluded for the day. He’d take up a seat in whatever room Ori had chosen to strongarm into order for the day and listen as the lad talked. During the quest he’d found that once you got the lad started on a topic that interested him, he needed very little encouragement or help to continue the topic well into the night if you let him. Not the most verbose of dwarves and lacking his brother’s talent for serious study, Dwalin had surprised himself and thrilled Ori with his willingness to listen as the other rambled.

He’d been sitting there listening, still as you please, while Ori went about the tedious steps for cataloging and shelving the neglected books. The lad had been going on about the scents of the library and how each room held a slightly different scent. Apparently, even the books with which he was working were unique to each other in some ways.

Dwalin was pretty sure that it was a topic that had been touched on before. He seemed to remember a windy night on the edges of the Misty Mountains with Ori, bundled up in all his threadbare wool, sitting as close to the fire as he could get without trying to make it obvious.

Ori loved the smell associated with books. He loved the scents of dust and age that tended to gather around parchment and leather. It was a testament to the course of time, or something or other, and Erebor’s library had overwhelmed even his greatest expectations.

The scent this far back in the library was almost overwhelming. It filled the air, ran along the shelves, and wrapped itself around you like a dry, not-quite-there pressure against your skin.

It was a still scent – heavy and waiting. It was dust and parchment and leather overlaid with the sharp scent of stone. It didn’t stir the blood or stoke the fire to blaze in a warrior’s heart. And while he would never admit it openly, it was almost as dear to him as it was to Ori. It was a scent meant for peace and reflection – for literary hearts and ink-stained hands.

Ink-stained hands with ink-stained fingers.

Ink-stained hands with ink-stained fingers, like the ones that clutched at his shoulders now that his own fingers finally succeeded in their goal.

Dwalin looked up as he drew the rapidly hardening cock into the open air between them, his callused palm already beginning a tentative stroking rhythm.

Ori’s face was flushed, his mouth open slightly, and his eyes locked with Dwalin’s own in a kind of hesitant wonder.

Dwalin lifted the hand not currently employed, reaching up and running his thumb along those parted lips, feeling the short, sharp exhalations. He was treading the other side of a line he’d sworn never to cross and part of him wondered if he pulled back now, could he still salvage anything or if he even wanted to.

 When Ori’s lips closed partially over the tip of his thumb, he felt the last shred of his tenuous control snap.

Never letting his eyes stray from the face above, Dwalin closed his own lips around Ori’s erection. Between the welcome weight of it on his tongue and the dazed look that stole over the lad’s face before his eyes closed in ecstasy, Dwalin could have come undone right then. Instead he moaned, low and long, and slid the length further in as far as he could manage.

With those eyes closed, Dwalin shut his own and set to with a will. Hands held fast to the lad’s hips, fingers clenching to steady them both as he worked. Each thrust that Ori could not control, was a personal victory to Dwalin and after each time, he’d run his thumbs soothingly over the skin they held.

The boy’s responses were addicting and Dwalin fought to catalogue them all.

If he pressed his tongue to the skin just below the head, Ori shuddered. If he lapped at the weeping slit, Ori’s fingers tangled in his hair. When he ran the flat of his tongue roughly along the prominent vein, the boy moaned so beautifully.

With the previous sounds echoing in his ears and the taste of Ori on his tongue, Dwalin moved a hand between the spread thighs. The sound that came when Dwalin pressed a finger against the hidden ring of muscles was part shout and part sob. Ori instinctively bend forward, seeking out the pressure that teased but never quite satisfied.

Feeling the straining tension, Dwalin looked up and drew back.

Ori cried out softly in protest of the loss.

Dwalin fought back a smile, using his other face to push back the hair from the sweat-soaked forehead.

“Turn around,” he commanded, the words even less articulate that normal.

Ori started upright at the words, looking quickly down at Dwalin with an obvious sense of confusion. Whatever he must have seen there did away with any possible reluctance he might have felt and, with only the slightest of hesitations, he turned away to face the table.

At some point, Ori’s breeches had fallen down past his knees and Dwalin took a moment to enjoy the view, taking a quick nip at one of the round cheeks before standing. It was an awkward business considering his own aroused state. Biting back a groan as his own erection shifted against the confining material.

Stepping forward he pressed the clothed proof of his arousal against the bare ass before him.

“Feel what you do to me,” he growled. “What you always do to me, Ori.”

The body beneath his trembled and he rocked against it once before stepping back and tugging at the laces that still kept him confined.

Fingers fumbled and tugged and twisted until finally he too was free. The cool air was a soothing balm to the heated flesh. But that was not what he need right now. It was not the sensation he craved.

“I need to feel you, Mizim.”

Hands gentler than he thought himself capable of, he cupped Ori’s ass. The skin beneath his hands was soft and warm and wonderfully pliable. He allowed his hands to roam for a few moments, exploring the bare expanse. Fingers pressed, palms kneaded, and every now and then he’d brush his thumb against that sensitive ring of muscles that had Ori hissing out a surprised sound of pleasure.

Gently separating the supple globes, Dwalin pressed forward, nestling his erection firmly the crevice.

“Finally,” Dwalin murmured, starting a gentle rocking motion. “You feel amazing.”

Ori braced his arms firmly against the grain of the tabletop, shifted his stance slightly to compensate, and pressed back against the hard length behind him. For the moment, the room was silent but for the sound of heavy breathing and the rhythmic creaking of wood.

The pace is slow and steady at first and Dwalin fights against himself to keep it that way. Each drag of his hardened length between that warm flesh, each tug on the sensitive skin just below its head, has him panting to press firmer, faster, deeper.

The noises beneath him aren’t helping his control. Ori’s sharp gasps and quiet mewling are testing his limits.

“More.”

The word is so soft and quiet, it almost doesn’t register with Dwalin, but his subconscious is so completely focused on the body beneath him that it snaps his hips forward almost without consent. Ori cries out and presses back sharply.

A new rhythm starts. It’s fast and just this side of rough. Ori’s hips are pressed tightly to the table beneath the onslaught, but he’s still trying to meet the new pace. Dwalin wraps one arm around Ori’s waist, hand splayed against his lower abdomen to try and take some of the pressure.

“Please, Mister Dwalin,” Ori begged, a gentle hand gripping his thigh. Each thrust was sliding the tip of Dwalin’s erection roughly against his entrance.

“Please?” Dwalin growled into the curve of Ori’s neck.

“Please,” he repeated.

“Anything, my lad,” Dwalin panted, teeth nipping gently the skin just below Ori’s ear. “Anything.”

Ori’s head tipped down, chin to chest, as he fought to get his words together – fought to even vocalize what he wanted.

From his vantage point, Dwalin watched with affection as the lad’s ears grew even redder with his embarrassment even as his shoulders firmed a bit with determination. There was a will of steel beneath all those soft words and polite manners.

A tentative hand slipped through the loose layers of his clothes, pushing his breeches further down his thighs as they cupped the straining muscles of his ass. Those careful fingers he’d always been fascinated by, firmed suddenly – fingers gripped and pressed, pushing him into the next thrust with surprising force.

“In-,” Ori breathed, the word barely there. “In-Inside… please…” Each word bursting quietly on unsteady exhalations. “I… want you… inside.” Ori pulled and thrust, emphasizing each word with action in a way he was unable to do with volume. “Please.”

Dwalin groaned, pulling Ori firmly back against him as he fought down his body’s reaction to those quiet requests. His cock twitched eagerly between those soft globes and he quite agreed with it. He’d often thought of spreading them before him and watching as his cock disappeared into that tight heat over and over again, while Ori cried out his name for all to hear.

His cock twitched again, and Ori fought to shift against it, obviously not pleased by the stillness.

Dwalin groaned, one hand holding the lad steady against him, while the other slid around to take the other’s erection firmly in hand. Firm, steady strokes pulled a soft mewl from Ori’s lips.

“Don’t tempt me, lad,” Dwalin warned, increasing the pressure of his hands. “I’ve nothing here to use as slick. Despite how tempting the idea is, ghivashel, I won’t take you with nothing on hand but spit and sweat.”

Ori trembled slightly, turning to catch Dwalin’s lips with his own. It was a fierce and desperate thing between them and said more of their emotions than either one of them had been capable of doing so far. After a few moments, Ori pulled back just enough to murmur something against Dwalin’s lips.

“What?” Dwalin mumbled, the word almost lost in the other’s mouth.

Ori drew back a bit and made a half-aborted gesture to the chair’s they’d been occupying earlier.

“Lotion,” he practically whispered, “in my pack.” His voice continued, the volume so soft Dwalin could only vaguely understand a few words like ‘dry’ and ‘hands’.

Resting his forehead between the lad’s shoulder blades, Dwalin forced himself to breathe and think for a moment. It took all his effort not to rush for the seemingly innocent satchel. The world had been nothing but fire and passion and lust during the last few seconds. Wonderful as that was, and as pleased with the unexpected turn in their meeting, there were other things to consider.

Lips pressed lightly to the skin at the base of Ori’s neck as Dwalin straightened himself, walking calmly across the room. Leisurely traversing the distance for all the world as if his cock wasn’t standing to full attention in the stale, dry air of the library - full and firm and flushed from their recent activities.

Dwalin rummaged in the satchel for a moment, coming away finally with a small, air-tight jar.  Then he turned and met Ori’s eyes, returning at the same sedate pace. Ori watched as Dwalin’s large hands pried the lid up and off, two thick fingers dipping into the interior of the jar and coming away with a small amount of the creamy substance. Ori watched, open mouthed, as Dwalin tested the lotion, rubbing it between his fingers and thumb.

Dwalin never once looked away from Ori’s expression.

Stepping in close behind him again, Dwalin murmured, “Do you understand what you’re askin’?”

Ori swallowed nervously, his mouth was dry and words impossible, but he kept his face focused on the older warrior.

“If I take you now,” a calloused palm cradled the scribe’s face. “If I take you now,” he repeated, “I won’t let you go. If I take you, Ori, I will not let you go.” The warrior’s forehead rested against that of the scribe. “I’m not strong enough for that, Ghivashel.”

Dwalin set the lotion on the table near Ori’s trembling hand and dipped his fingers once more into the contents.

“I will keep you.”

It was part warning and part promise as a gentle touch brought the lotion in to the slightest contact with puckered flesh. When Ori only nodded, Dwalin pressed firmer against the sensitive skin and waited. He drew back a bit but kept contact with his hand and fingers. Fingers that were steadily spreading lotion in firm, circular strokes around the entrance.

When Ori finally look up, there was a bold look in his eye despite the heavy blush that had flooded his face.

“After all this, did you think I would let you do anything else?”

“You little…” Dwalin began leaning forward. He caught the other’s lips on the little ‘o’ of surprise and pleasure that came as his finger pressed fully inside. Ori bucked back towards him and Dwalin chuckled.

“So responsive”, Dwalin murmured, using his body to press Ori fully to the table. Bracing his forearm to against the other’s shoulders to keep him down, he shifted to the side and let his cock rest snuggly against his hip. The position gave him a much better vantage point to work from and, more importantly, the best view of Ori’s responses which would let him know when the lad was ready for more.

It took several minutes and three fingers before Dwalin was satisfied. That and the desperate way Ori was rutting against the wooden table, trying to get closer to Dwalin and manage more friction at the same time.

Releasing Ori, he withdrew his fingers slowly. The sound he made at their loss had Dwalin stroking a soothing finger along the eager opening.

“Only for a moment,” he soothed.

Ori pulled himself up a bit, bracing himself on folded arm while his body recovered and waited.

The way his cock twitched while applying the lotion told Dwalin that he wouldn’t last long. And, taking a glance at Ori’s trembling frame, he didn’t think Ori would either. The heat that enveloped him and the way Ori’s muscles tightened only seemed to want to prove him right.

 It was better than he had imagined, and he took a moment to appreciate the way Ori rode his cock. Watching the skin stretch and pull taut with each slow thrust, feeling each shudder and tremble in the body beneath him, and knowing that it was Ori that was accepting him; it was almost too much. He wanted the image to be carved into his memory for the rest of his life. He should never forget this moment.

Those few moments were all that he could allow himself. He could feel the rush of pleasure pressing him forward. Each thrust was quicker than the last, the snap of hips that much rougher. Far from discouraging this change in pace, Ori seemed to be experiencing his own sense of urgency. Muscles quivering and back arching as he fought to take what Dwalin was offering.

Everything seemed to be building, pushing the pace with the idea of: faster, quicker, harder, now.

Soon, Dwalin’s chest was pressed as tight it could be to Ori’s back, hips lurching in a desperate rush of pleasure. The slap of skin echoed around the bare walls and ancient tomes with the heavy sounds of breathing.

Dwalin opened his mouth to let Ori know he was close, and words spilled forth instead. Promises and praise, memories and confessions all poured forth. He recalled his admiration at Ori’s courage, his love of Ori’s gentle humor, and how each of the moment they had shared were so very important to him. Then, as the hot pressure of his orgasm became heavier, the confession took a new turn. How he loved the way Ori felt around him. How he wanted to see that quiet mouth stretched over his own erection. How well Ori would look spread out bare on his own sheets and furs.

With a hand wrapped around Ori’s leaking cock, he stroked in time with his own broken rhythm as he told Ori about how he hoped he would remember this moment each time he came to the library. That he wanted the scents Ori was so fond of to always bring back this moment. He wanted the smell of parchment to recall the touches they had exchanged, leather inspire the memory of himself on his knees, and the wooden tables bring back the phantom feel of each thrust of their joining.

With those words in the air and his lips to Ori’s neck, he felt the sudden spasming of the other’s orgasm. Burying his cock deep and taking a vicious pride in the warm wetness covering his hand and the table, Dwalin followed after.

\----------------

“You’re telling my brothers.” Ori teased.

Dwalin immediately started laughing and after a moment’s thought, Ori blushed and shoved him as best he could from his current position.

“Not everything, of course!” he rushed to add, fighting back a laugh of his own.

“Thank, Mahal,” Dwalin grinned. “Dori’s probably going to kill me as it is.”

After a few moments of silent reflection, Ori tugged Dwalin closer as if he might shield him from the possible threat.

“On second thought,” Ori corrected, pressing a kiss to Dwalin’s shoulder, “I’ll tell my brothers. You go hide in the armory.”

The sounds of laughter echoed in the pleasant atmosphere, mingling with the scents of leather and parchment and time.


End file.
